


Every Little Thing

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Adorable FitzSimmons (Agents of SHIELD), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hospital, F/M, Fitz's POV, Fitzsimmons Secret Valentine, Fluff, Hostage Situations, I promise it's mostly fluff, Kissing, Leo Fitz Feels, Mack is a neurologist, Morning Cuddles, Panic Attacks, SHIELD University, Season 2 Fitz, Tumblr Prompt, actually very little violence considering the premise, fluff and kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years ago, Fitz was in a car accident that left him permanently changed. Today, he’s trapped in a hospital where a gunman has taken hostages. What Fitz doesn’t know is that today is also the day he’ll meet the woman who will change him again – by helping him accept the man he’s become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Little Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWholeDamnTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWholeDamnTime/gifts).



> Written for the tumblr FitzSimmons Secret Valentine exchange, for divergent-ravenclaw-of-athena, aka. TheWholeDamnTime.
> 
> Her request was for "FitzSimmons taking care of each other." I hope you like my interpretation of that!
> 
> A big thank you to MK for reading this over, but especially for helping to calm me down when I was panicking about ideas, and for prompting "medical AU," which eventually morphed into the end product!
> 
> Everyone's their current canon ages (they're way into post-grad at this point).

Fitz tried to regulate his breathing, pulling his legs into his chest and counting to ten as shouts and fearful mutters echoed through the hospital’s halls. By either luck or instinct, he’d managed to drop behind this corner before the gunman had herded most of the nearby staff and patients into one room, rifle and pistol at the ready. But now Fitz was suffering from a severe panic attack, and he couldn’t quite manage enough breaths to keep himself from getting dizzy.

At one point during his recovery, he’d thought nothing would ever surprise him again. Nothing could possibly be more shocking than a certified genius getting into a hit-and-run accident and suffering from severe temporal lobe damage. Nothing could be more horrifying than having to relearn how to communicate the thoughts trapped in his head, how to control the hands that itched to create machines and robots and useful things. He’d been wrong, in the end, as he always was in some way, because he never could have predicted being caught in a hostage crisis. His current total lack of control was painfully similar to when he first struggled to convey a sentence that would once have seemed so simple, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, shaking palms pressed against his eyes.

_In. Out. In. Out._

Time seemed to be on his side for now, creeping slowly forward as his lungs filled with careful breaths. Using the techniques his rehab specialist had taught him, he was finally able to get the blind, crippling panic to ebb away. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, curled in on himself, but he was left uninterrupted to convince his brain to even out for as long as he needed. Something about the shouting and surprise must have triggered it; he’d need to talk to Mack about that at their next appointment. That’s who he’d been here to see, his neurologist, and he’d been about to leave the hospital when the madman had stormed in just down the hall from where he’d been standing. 

Now able to move, Fitz stretched up from where he sat, trying to see if anyone else on the floor had escaped the hostage-taker. The halls were deserted, though, and he came to the conclusion that he was the only person still on this floor not trapped – which also meant that he had to figure out how to help them on his own. Peering around the corner and keeping low, he was able to get a clear view of the area into which the gunman had herded his hostages. The man himself had wild hair, a rifle slung over one shoulder, and a pistol pointed directly at a young woman in scrubs who had taken it upon herself to attempt to reason with him. As much as he tried, Fitz couldn’t hear what she was saying. Instead, he watched the way she held her hands out in a placating gesture with a smile that might have seemed genuine if it weren’t for the way her eyes darted around the room whenever the gunman’s gaze landed elsewhere.

The man yelled something and she flinched as he gestured to a child in a hospital gown standing behind her, waving the young boy forward. The woman, who was either a nurse or medical student judging by her youth, stepped in front of the child, shielding him as her soothing mask broke for a moment and terror leaked through. Fitz had to get them to safety – since the gunman’s back was to him, he was the hostages’ best chance.

After wracking his brain for an idea, he came up with the perfect solution – and wanted to smack himself in the head for not coming up with it instantly. He’d been busy in his lab this morning futzing with D.O.D. paperwork before his appointment (the most frustrating aspect of his R&D grant) and so he hadn’t realized until he was halfway to the hospital that he’d forgotten to store one of his prototypes. It was a miniaturized EMP about the size of his thumb, and it was currently resting in the breast pocket of his navy-plaid shirt.

Shuffling low behind the wall that separated him from the others, Fitz managed to get to the entryway of the room without being seen by any of the dozen-or-so hostages or the gunman, who was now ranting his demands into a clunky old mobile. With the others’ attention focused elsewhere, Fitz slid slowly into sight of the woman who’d been speaking to the madman. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and he raised one shaking finger to his lips. Immediately cottoning on to the fact that he had a plan, she gave a slight nod and shifted her eyes back to the gunman, her hands still holding the young boy behind her. 

As he took a few deep breaths, Fitz slid forward in a crouch, knowing that he’d only have a few seconds once the EMP went off before the gunman managed to get his finger around a trigger. The hope that his device would work flitted briefly through his head, and he grinned to himself. Of course it would work – he’d made it. The accident may have damaged him, but he was still damn good at making things. It just took him longer. With that small mental confidence boost, he pressed the button and the multitude of electronics in the hospital room shorted at once, giving him just enough time to take a flying leap at the disoriented gunman, knocking them both over.

A gunshot rang out, something metal connected sharply with the back of Fitz’s head, and then there was darkness.

When he finally came to, his eyes blinked open to see the face of the woman from the center of the room. The first thought he had was that waking up in the morning wouldn’t be so awful if he got to see that smile, which she wore as she stared down at him, ambient light just barely shimmering in the golden striations of her irises. After a few moments, the fog cleared enough for him to register that she was speaking to him.

“That’s it, I’ve got you. Can you hear me?” Her voice was soothing, and a beat too slow he realized that she had an English accent. Despite being Scottish, Fitz had always sort of had a thing for English accents, not that he’d ever admit it.

“Yeah, I can,” he managed to get out, a radiating ache in his skull starting to make itself known. Something cold was pressed to the back of his head, and somewhere mixed with the general hospital smell of antiseptic he noticed a flowery scent – lavender, maybe – that reminded him of home.

“Excellent!” She reached quickly for him as he struggled to sit up, catching one arm and pressing her palm to his back. “Easy does it – you knocked your head on a bed frame when you went down.”

“What happened?” Wincing and bringing the icepack that had been his pillow up to his head, Fitz looked around. Police were milling in and out of the room and the hallway, as were miscellaneous hospital staff. No patients were in sight, but he assumed they’d been moved elsewhere by this point.

After getting him to lean back against the wall, she shifted around to look at him properly, hands set primly on her knees. “The police stormed the hospital when they heard the gunshot, and I was able to hold him down until they arrived.”

Fitz glanced back at her. “Hold him?” 

A light blush bloomed in her cheeks. “I, ah – stood on his neck.”

He laughed, impressed and trying very hard not to give the figure underneath her scrubs an once-over. “Well done, you." 

She leaned forward, resting one hand on his knee as a warm smile spread across her face. “No, well done _you_. You saved us.”

Feeling his ears flush at the praise, Fitz shrugged and looked down at his lap. “Anyone would’ve done the– the same. Just got lucky.”

The woman shook her head emphatically and scooted another inch closer. “No, they wouldn’t. You’re a hero. And, I have to ask – that was an EMP, wasn’t it?”

He raised an eyebrow; most people wouldn’t have been able to guess that. “Yeah –”

“How on earth did you miniaturize it?” Her eyes were wide as she stared at him, and Fitz started to feel his neck heat up at the intensity of her gaze. “I’m a medical student here in my free time, you see, but I actually work in the biochemical research labs on campus –” 

“Hold on,” he interrupted, wondering if maybe the knock on his head had harmed his hearing after all. “You’re g-going to med school – in your _free time_?”

“Yes,” she answered without pause, “I like helping people and I find it rather soothing when I’m stuck on a problem in the lab – but that isn’t the point. What I meant to say is that I pass by one of the engineering labs on my way to work, and I’ve never seen anything like this –” 

“When you say pass by – those, um, those labs don’t have wall-to-wall windows. Do you mean that you...” He grinned, letting her know that he wasn’t annoyed – but there was really only one way she could have seen into any of the higher-level engineering labs. 

She ducked her head, exhaling a small puff of air. “Okay, yes, I’ve looked around once or twice. I work with the D.O.D. so I have the clearance for it, and I find engineering rather fascinating even if I don’t quite have the same knack for it that I do biochemistry.” While she waved her hand in front of herself as if to shoo away the tangent, Fitz found himself becoming rather fascinated with her, this strange, fast-talking medical-student-and-biochemist. “ _The point_ is that under the assumption that you invented that EMP, judging by the IDs in your wallet, which I only looked at to learn your emergency contact if we needed it –” She paused for breath, and he did his best not to smile at her rather endearing rambling. “I would love for you to explain your process.”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open, very much wanting to say yes but also being completely stunned by the fact that someone was genuinely interested in learning _how_ he’d created something, rather than just wanting to see the end product. Before he could answer though, a police officer strode over, pad at the ready, to take his statement.

“Seems I’m off then. Thank you for the, uh...” Rather than stutter in trying to come up with the word that was eluding him at that moment, he just held up the ice-pack.

He gave her a small shrug as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet, but before he could follow the rather dour police officer into the hall the medical student caught his arm. “Here,” she said, a distinct flush blooming prettily on her cheeks as she handed him a scrap of paper. “I really _am_ interested, if you have the time.”

Fitz’s gaze flickered between her face and the scribbled phone number now in his hand a few times too many before he remembered to smile back at her. “Yeah, alright.” 

She grinned widely as he turned to the impatient police officer, and then blurted out: “Jemma!” When he turned again, she was shaking her head at herself. “Jemma Simmons. So you know who you’re calling.”

Heat climbed up the back of his neck; he should’ve remembered to ask. “I’m Fitz. Just Fitz.”

“See you soon, then, Fitz,” she said, raising one hand in a faint wave.

He watched her for over his shoulder for a few more steps, distracted by the way light filtered through the tendrils of hair framing her face, before turning and just barely managing to avoid running into the doorframe.

 

\------

 

Five days later, Fitz managed to finally work himself up to calling the number he’d been staring at since receiving it. (Although he’d only done so after Skye invited herself over for breakfast again and threatened to cook the worn scrap of paper into their pancakes. For someone who claimed to be his best friend, she was infuriatingly fixated on his social life – or lack thereof. That being said, it would be Trip’s fault if calling Jemma was a disaster, because instead of standing up for his roommate he’d just grinned knowingly and nodded as he stirred the pancake batter. Useless.) 

Even though Fitz probably wouldn’t see her again after this – no one had patience for him, other than Skye and Trip, and rightly so – he reasoned that he could at least enjoy getting to explain one of his devices to someone who was intelligent enough to be curious. She’d readily accepted his invitation to take a tour of his workspace, assuming she had the requisite government clearance (which she did; it seemed she was working on biochemical projects whose applications were at least as sensitive and potentially valuable as his engineering ones). 

Jemma arrived ten minutes early, which threw him for a loop, but after an initial, brief stutter-attack on his part they spent hours just... talking. Fitz showed her the EMP, and she pointed out a change to the release mechanism that would make the pulse-release that much smoother. As it turned out, she was twice as smart as him – at least, as he was now. Before the accident, she may only have been 115% as smart as him.

But that didn’t seem to deter her interest, and he couldn’t quite help the way his stomach flipped every time she smiled at him or when her eyes widened as he explained how he’d done something that she found particularly brilliant (even if he disagreed). Her quick mind did explain how she had time to do both biochemical research as well as medical school – sort of. She told him that she wasn’t going for a full medical degree, as she already had two PhDs, but that still didn’t quite explain how she ever had time to sleep.

Eventually, their conversation wandered to being the youngest in their respective classes at SHIELD Uni, and Fitz had the sudden realization that their elbows were millimeters from touching. As they were talking, they must have been shifting subtly closer and closer together – he wasn’t sure if it was both, or one or the other of them – but now he was near enough that he could smell that same floral scent he’d found so appealing in the hospital. But then he caught the tail end of what she’d just said and did a mental double take, distracting himself from his unproductive observations about her increasingly appealing physical qualities. 

“Hang on – d-did you just say you had Huxley for chem lab?” When she nodded, apparently unperturbed by him interrupting her mid-sentence, he swore under his breath.

Her nose wrinkled at his reaction. “What?”

Glancing up, he exhaled into a small grin. “I had to switch sections ‘cause of, um, of the exam schedule – Mum wanted me home for Christmas. But I w-was supposed to be in Huxley’s class.” 

Jemma laughed and laid one of her hands over his bare left forearm, warmth spreading from the touch. “What a pity, Fitz! We could have become friends years ago.” 

As she spoke, a tremor skated through his arm. _Not now_ , he thought desperately, _not with her_ , but another tremor shook through his arm muscles, causing him to wince and pull away from Jemma. “Yeah,” he muttered, squeezing his hand into a fist. “It’s too bad.”

When he risked looking up at her, she was studying him, lower lip pulled between her teeth. “I don’t mean to pry,” she said at last, mouth twisted into that same generic pitying smile with which he was so familiar now. “But I was –”

“Car accident. Hit and run. Never caught the bastard.” Fitz let his shoulders curl forward, worrying one thumb against the palm of the other hand as he braced for her to leave. Everyone was always curious until he told them. “Temporal lobe damage, and decreased motor function in my left hand. S’why I was at the hospital, actually. Seeing my neurologist.”

“Dr. Mackenzie?” She grinned when he nodded. “I did a rotation with him – he’s superb. You’re very lucky to get him.” 

“Yeah, well. We’ve sort of b-become friends.” Knowing that it would only be moments until she decided she’d lost interest in him, Fitz just shrugged, keeping his eyes trained downwards.

“Well, this has been fascinating –” Here it was. “But I’m desperately thirsty, and I need to be awake enough to take my friend’s shift tonight. Can I tempt you out for coffee?” Fitz frowned, then blinked up, noting the equally hopeful and hesitant smile on her face before she rushed into a somewhat rambling explanation. “Well, tea in my case – I can’t stand coffee. But that’s the colloquial phrase for such invitations, so –”

“Tea for me, too, I think.” Her mouth hung open after his response for a second, as if she hadn’t expected him to say yes any more than he’d expected her to ask, and then they both grinned simultaneously.

 

\------

 

The next three months were the best Fitz could remember having since he was a child – or at least certainly the best since his accident – all thanks to the fact that he saw Jemma at least one day out of every week, and, if he was lucky, almost every day. After that first tea, she started stopping by his lab whenever she was free to see if he wanted to go with her to the campus coffee shop, and when their schedules stopped matching up quite as well he suggested she come up to his apartment instead. He lived near the labs, so it really was just a sensible suggestion on his part – no matter what Trip and Skye said. (Fortunately, both their schedules meant that neither of them were ever around to harass him when Jemma was over – although there had been a narrow miss one night when Skye had traipsed into the apartment uninvited mere minutes after Jemma had left.) 

Jemma certainly didn’t take their friendly teas as anything more than that, coming up for a couple hours, always in the evening, and leaving early (either for a graveyard shift at the hospital or to work in her lab while it was quiet). She took her tea with milk and one sugar, teased him for using so much sugar in his own, and almost always brought some kind of dessert to share. For the first time in two years, Fitz felt like he could be normal again.

One such evening, they were sitting on his and Trip’s sofa (that Skye had needled them endlessly about purchasing – “What _roommates_ buy a couch together?” “Mature ones who need someplace to sit, Skye.”) and Jemma was trying to convince him to buy some strange substance off of Amazon.

“It’s _not_ abnormal, Fitz,” she exclaimed, snatching her phone back from him and laughing. “Kinetic sand – aside from being exceptionally fun to fiddle with if you’re bored while waiting for results – is actually very good for practicing fine motor skills.”

He wrinkled his nose, and then had the strange realization that he’d just subconsciously imitated his favorite of her facial expressions. Shaking his head, he took a sip of his tea. “Just seems like a waste of money when I can go to the beach and get sand for free.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “I _told_ you, it’s not normal sand! It sticks together, a little like putty, but more malleable.” Separating one hand from her mug, she pried his left one loose and waggled his fingers in time with her own. “It’ll be very good exercise for these guys, I swear.” 

Fitz had stopped listening to her, though, as something warm and a little sad pinged through his chest at the touch of her hand. She’d let his hand rest cradled in her palm, and he stared down at it as he reminded himself that he wasn’t good enough for anyone anymore – and certainly not for Jemma Simmons. Pulling his hand away, he flicked his eyes up to hers and shrugged before dropping his attention back to his tea.

Silence reigned in the apartment that had seemed so cozy a few moments ago, and Jemma let out a distinct noise of frustration. “I don’t understand you, Fitz.” 

He frowned and returned his gaze to her face. “What?”

Her mouth worked silently for a moment and she flushed. “I just – sometimes I think you... that we... that there’s something... _more_ happening here, and we’re on the same page, and then you do – that. Pull away. I just –” She faltered again, and Fitz wondered when his heart had started pounding so loudly. “I’m not especially good at reading people. Can you just tell me if I’m completely wrong about this?” Wincing, Jemma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear but remained silent as she watched him, waiting for his answer.

Every instinct inside Fitz wanted to say the exact opposite of what he knew he had to, and a small part of him crumbled as he tried to figure out how to start. “You’re... um, you’re probably... I’ve been so....” He let out a huff of annoyance and leaned over to put his tea mug on the table. “I feel like meeting you is the-the best thing that’s happened to me in a – um, a long time, Jemma. But I don’t de– you don’t want me.”

Her fingers traced the rim of her mug as she studied his face, head tilted thoughtfully to the side as she listened. “How do you know what I want?”

Fitz laughed, even though the sound didn’t have any real mirth in it. “You just....” He exhaled, trying to get his nerves under control; if he wasn’t careful this could lead to a full-on stutter-attack, and that was the last thing he wanted right now. Although it would certainly prove his point. “I – I’m damaged, Jemma, I c-can’t be the way I used to. You didn’t know me then, but I – was not this.” His left hand gave a small tremor at that and he held it out as if to say _see_? “And, please, I’m not saying this for – for sympathy or any of that r-rubbish, it – it’s just the way things are,” he muttered, unable to hold her gaze any longer and looking down.

The room was silent for a few moments, and Fitz’s ears flushed as she continued to watch him. “You’re right.” Despite the quietness of her voice, he couldn’t help but cringe at the rejection he expected to hear next. “I didn’t know the person you were before. But I honestly can’t imagine you possibly being more brilliant than you are now –”

His mouth dropped open, realizing that she wasn’t going to listen to him. “Jemma –” 

“No, Fitz, shut up and listen to me. I’ve been reading your published papers –”

Fitz interrupted her with a rather ungainly squawk. “How did you –” 

“Google is a beautiful thing.”

“Right, yeah.”

“And they’re absolutely stunning. _Especially_ the one you just published about drones.”

The sincerity and assuredness in her voice almost winded him, as if all the air had been removed from the room at once. People said things like that to him sometimes (mostly Skye and Trip, really) but Fitz never believed them. He always told himself that they were being polite or were trying to make him feel better, but Jemma... he might not have known her for very long, but he _believed_ her. Even if he wasn’t sure why. 

“I hadn’t really found the right way to ask, yet, but I have a few projects on which I would love your input, if you have the time,” she added, glancing briefly down into her tea mug before returning her gaze to his face. “But that’s neither here nor there. Fitz, you’re just so much _more_ than your intellect. I...” She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear again. “I don’t make friends easily, all appearances aside...” 

“But who wouldn’t want to be your friend?” Fitz blurted the question out, briefly noting that he hadn’t stuttered at all and then flushing at the oddly declarative nature of the question. In fact, he’d never been good at making friends, either – Skye had essentially browbeaten him into their friendship when they met in a higher-level coding class, her first year and his second, and she’d been the one to introduce him to Trip. Fitz did _like_ people, and had always tried to make friends in one way or another, but without much sustained success; it was hard to befriend people who couldn’t understand half of what he was saying (and who usually didn't care).

Jemma smiled thinly and inhaled. “You might be surprised to learn that most people don’t enjoy being corrected every few sentences. I don’t do it on purpose,” she added, somewhat defensive, “it just sort of happens. And – other reasons. But that isn’t the point – I meant to say that I’ve become... quite fond of you. _You_ , Fitz, not just the brain hiding underneath that thick skull.” She tapped her finger against his temple, and he ducked his head slightly, but instead of moving away Jemma let her hand drift down to his cheek, brushing her thumb gently against the line of his stubble. “If you’re not interested in... this, then we can just pretend this conversation never happened. But if you are, or might be, or could be...” Her voice trailed away and if he didn’t know better Fitz would swear that time stopped as a flood of repressed longing filled his chest. “I think you’re fantastic, exactly as you are.” 

It was simply too good to be true, echoed a voice in the back of his head, and he swallowed thickly. “But... you don’t want... me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and he couldn’t help how his eyes dropped to her mouth, to the wide, pink lips that he’d been studiously not staring at for months when she sipped her tea, or talked, or – did anything, really.

Noting the direction of his gaze, Jemma leaned over to put her mug on the coffee table and then scooted closer to him, letting one hand rest on his knee. “What did I say about telling me what _I_ wanted?” She placed her other hand along his jaw, and every point of contact with her tingled as she leaned forward and her lips finally met his. 

The kiss was cautious and light, but Fitz felt like he was about to go bursting through the ceiling with all the energy zinging through his veins. He’d told himself over and over again since the accident that no one would want him like this, that no one would want a broken man as a boyfriend or lover or husband, but now, here, with Jemma, he felt that belief start to crack.

After a moment, Fitz slanted his lips more firmly against hers, deciding once and for all that she might change her mind but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy pretending that maybe, for once, something wouldn’t end. In return, Jemma let out a pleased hum against his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around her, curling one hand up to rest against the back of her neck. She tasted like tea and sugar and the cinnamon cookie she’d finished in the elevator, and when her tongue swept into his mouth Fitz couldn’t stop the small groan that escaped his throat. 

They stayed there for what might as well have been an eternity to Fitz, as he was entirely consumed by the feeling of Jemma wanting him – _him_ , of all the lucky people in the world. But then a tremor shook his left hand, and he froze, his lips faltering against Jemma’s as potent and familiar anger welled in the pit of his stomach. Another tremor came, and another, and Fitz yanked himself away from her, swearing under his breath and pressing his hands into his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to rasp out, his breath coming short. “I’m sorry, Jemma, I told you I’m damaged, I can’t bloody do anything without –”

“Fitz,” she interrupted firmly, shifting to her knees on the floor in front of him in a bid to force his attention back to her. “Look at me.” 

He couldn’t bear to, keeping his face covered and wondering if maybe he was going to wake up soon and none of this would be happening. If maybe he’d be back at the hospital three months ago having just hit his head, never having met the one woman who had made him wish harder than ever that he was whole again. Her fingers slipped around his hands where they covered his face and insistently tugged them down until she could peer up into his eyes.

The look on her face bore a strong resemblance to the doctors and nurses he’d spent so much time with in the past two years, and he prepared himself for her to ask pointed medical questions about the bloody tremors. “Fitz, tell me why you pulled away.” 

Thrown out of his own anger by confusion, Fitz blinked down at her. “My... my hand shook.” 

“Did that have anything to do with kissing?”

He frowned, officially nonplussed. “No.” 

“Were your lips or tongue affected by the tremor?”

The connection clicked, and he couldn’t stop the slight quirk of his mouth. “No.” 

“So why did we need to stop?”

His mouth worked silently for a moment, and then he swallowed again. “You could feel it from where I was – was holding you.”

“I barely noticed it,” she murmured, shuffling closer to him and raising a hand to his cheek. “I was rather pleasantly occupied. What I _did_ notice was you freezing and then jumping away from me.” She sighed, putting both hands back around his. “You’ve taught yourself to recognize this physical tick as something abhorrent, Fitz, but it’s not. It’s a tremor. They come and go in people who haven’t suffered a traumatic accident like yours, too. If you don’t treat it like a huge problem when you’re in the moment, it _will_ go away. You can’t let it consume you, because you’re so much more than that one, small thing.”

Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a fervent kiss to her lips, sliding one hand around the back of her neck to pull her forward so that she was sitting straight up in front of him, one hand on his thigh and the other curling into the front of his jumper. Once they were both thoroughly breathless, he pulled back just enough to lean his forehead against hers.

“No one... no one’s ever said it like that before.”

“Then they’re idiots,” she replied simply. “But most people are, compared to us.” She wrinkled her nose in possibly the most adorable frown Fitz had ever seen. “No, actually, I take that back. It sounded funnier in my head, and came out rather cruel.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I don’t think you could ever be cruel.”

The look that passed across her face then surprised him, a darkness flashing through her eyes almost faster than he could process it. “I would be to the person who caused that crash.” She saw the wince that flitted across his expression, and quickly clarified. “I don’t mean so that you wouldn’t be the man you are now. But because they’ve made you think this way about yourself – made you think so little of someone I find so interesting.” Flattening her fingers against his chest, just beneath his collarbone, she leaned forward to kiss him again.

Her lips were mere teases against his, just brushing enough that he could process their softness before they drew away again, her tongue darting out to trace the seam of his lips before withdrawing. The hand on her shoulder began to tremble again, and he froze instinctively, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut and trying desperately not to react poorly this time. But she’d noticed his reaction (of course she had) and pulled back. Fitz exhaled in frustration with himself – until he realized that she was just shifting over to press kisses along his jawline.

“Ignore it, Fitz,” she murmured into his ear, the warmth of her breath making other parts of him shiver pleasantly. “Focus on me.”

That really wouldn’t be a problem, because she’d slid her lips just underneath his ear and sucked gently, and he released a mildly embarrassing gasp at the feeling of her tongue against his skin. Rapidly proving that she was skilled at more than just studying, Jemma nipped and licked along his neck, and Fitz dropped his head to the side to give her more access, letting his eyes close as he relaxed into her touch. Just as he noticed that she was sort of straining to reach what she wanted, though, she pulled away and scrambled up from the floor – only to push him further into the couch and sit next to him, swinging her legs over his before leaning in to kiss him properly. After making him dizzy with the way her tongue slid against his, she returned to mapping out his neck with her mouth, and he pulled her as tightly against him as he could in this position. No girl had ever paid him this kind of prolonged attention before – he’d had a couple of dalliances in the past, but they were barely memorable compared to _this_. If she was this good at simply snogging, he could only imagine what other activities at which she’d excel. 

His hand shook, but just then Jemma scraped her teeth against his pulse point and made Fitz whimper at the sudden realization of exactly how arousing this was. She shifted her leg and it brushed against where he was now very hard, and he groaned, forcibly holding himself still. 

“Jemma,” he murmured into the silence, and to his surprise she trembled in his arms. Wanting to see if the hypothesis that had just occurred to him was correct, he said her name again, letting his tone drop even lower and his accent curl thickly around the consonants.

This time she whimpered outright and removed her lips from his neck, breath coming out in small pants against his skin. “ _God_ , Fitz,” she said, eyes unfocused somewhere around his mouth, “that’s...” She trailed off with a pleased shiver, but that wasn’t quite enough for him.

“What, Jemma?” Fitz whispered this in almost the same low tone, and she bit her lip, staring dazedly up at him.

“Really... hot.” Unable to tell if her blush was from embarrassment or from being turned on, he leaned forward to kiss her – but the shift pressed her against his erection again and he stilled himself, squeezing his eyes closed.

“I think – I think maybe we should stop. Just for now, for a little bit. To let us... y’know...” His eyes dropped briefly down to his lap and then back up, praying she’d understand and not be insulted. 

A frown settled on her brow for a moment, and then her mouth dropped into an “ _oh_.” Slowly disentangling herself so that she was kneeling next to him on the couch, she rambled out her apology, a pretty blush rising on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Fitz, I wasn’t really thinking – I didn’t mean to – to tease, I just –”

“Was p-pleasantly occupied?” He grinned, slipping one hand into hers as she laughed and leaned into his shoulder.

“Something like that.” 

Her thumb smoothed slow patterns over his knuckles, and he wondered, briefly, what would’ve happened if he hadn’t switched out of that chemistry lab all those years ago. If she ever would’ve talked to him if he hadn’t just saved her life.

“I think you would’ve liked who I used to be,” he said absently, holding on a little more tightly.

Jemma tilted her head, studying him as she had been all evening. “Possibly. But I don’t care about him. I only care that he became you.”

Fitz laughed then, causing her frown to deepen, and he shook his head, trying to find the words to explain. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you – I just... Christ, Jemma, it’s like – like you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. How’re you real? Are you sure you’re n-not something I’ve made up?”

She chuckled, smiling softly as she scooted even closer to him. “Pretty sure. If you don’t believe me, I can always meet you before your appointment with Dr. Mackenzie tomorrow. If he doesn’t see me, you’ll know.”

He pretended to think about it for a moment and then nodded. “Deal.”

“So,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “how should we spend our last night before you know if I’m real or not?” Her eyes dropped to his non-dominant hand, and she reached out to drag a fingertip along his palm. “I have a few ideas about how those tremors could do some good.”

Swallowing, Fitz felt his cheeks grow warm. “Y’know, saying something like that isn’t exactly convincing me that you’re here.”

Laughing, Jemma pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You’re adorable when you blush. And, I don’t, um –” Her voice faltered, and he smiled at the matching flush rising on her face. “I’d rather we actually go on a few dates, before... that is, if you want to...”

“Me, too,” he added quickly, amused by her awkwardness but also not wanting her to think that he was expecting anything else now, their excellent snog aside. “And I do, yeah, definitely. Dates and everything. Although... could we, maybe, do more of...” He paused, and then brought his hand up to sweep his thumb along her bottom lip. “...That? Later?”

She inhaled sharply at his touch, her eyes darkening as she nodded. “Yes, I think we can manage that.” Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip and Fitz found himself fixated on its movement, smoothing his thumb along her cheek as he unconsciously mirrored her movements with his own mouth. When Jemma spoke again, her voice was unnaturally high. “Fitz – we’re supposed to be stopping, yes?” His eyes drifted back to hers, and he noted that her breath had become shallow. “To let us, um, calm down.”

“Oh, to hell with it,” he muttered, giving up on holding himself back and pulling her towards him. She parted her lips as they met in the middle, and the kiss was fast and heated in a way that the others hadn’t been. Where before they were exploring the feeling of being together – and Fitz was learning to ignore his tremors – now the barriers were gone and both were doing what they wanted. There was a slight competitive edge to it at times, when one of them would gasp or let out a breathless whimper and the other would repeat whatever had spurred that reaction. Jemma continued tormenting Fitz’s skin with her lips, and he learned he could elicit similar responses from her by simply sliding his fingertips along her neck or drawing her bottom lip into his mouth.

Eventually they fell back onto the couch, with Jemma trapped between Fitz and the cushions. They had long since passed the point where, with any other woman, Fitz would have considered venturing further. But he really, _really_ liked Jemma, now that he was letting himself accept those thoughts, and he refused to move too quickly with her and risk the relationship flaring too fast and burning out. (Or having her change her mind once she got him in bed. The accident hadn’t resulted in any performance issues – he’d checked – but he also hadn’t been with anyone since his “before,” and that made him nervous. At the very least, he might get to be happy with her for a good couple of months before he had to worry about that.)

So when she shifted her hips, probably without even knowing she was doing it, and rubbed up against where he was still very much aroused, Fitz made himself still next to her, pulling back from her mouth. Jemma’s face was flushed, her curls were thoroughly mussed, and her lips were a gratifyingly dark shade of pink, tempting him back in for a few, last, sweet kisses. 

“Maybe we should...”

“Yeah,” she murmured, inhaling into a smile. “My shift actually...” She pulled his wrist over to look at his watch and groaned. “Starts in six hours.”

They untangled themselves from each other and the couch, and he trailed after her as she gathered her things, tugging her back for another kiss before she reached the door.

“I’ll see you before your appointment tomorrow,” she said once he forced himself to pull away. Her fingers traced the upper edge of his undershirt as she smiled fondly up at him; she was lingering just as much as he wanted her to linger.

“D’you want me to walk you home?” It wasn’t actually that late – Jemma’s shift just started at an ungodly hour – but he’d take any excuse to be near her a little longer.

She just shook her head and leaned in to press her lips gently against his. “No, thank you.”

A few more whispered goodbyes and stolen kisses (one of which made Jemma giggle as she swatted him away) later, the elevator doors had closed in front of her and Fitz was left alone in his apartment. 

His night was a restless one because the longer he went without seeing Jemma, the more he was able to convince himself that he _had_ been hallucinating her all this time. It made so much more sense than that he’d just happened to find the perfect person for him – he’d met her after being knocked on the head, after all. He couldn’t remember now if he’d seen her talk to anyone after that in the hospital, and every time they’d met for tea over the past couple months it had just been them. Of _course_ she’d always left before either Trip got home or Skye invited herself over – no real person had timing that spot-on. By the time he arrived at the hospital the next morning, Fitz was certain that he was about to have his illusion of happiness dashed in front of his neurologist, so he dragged his feet all the way to the hospital.

As he turned the corner to Mack’s office, though, he stopped mid-shuffle at the sight of two figures at exact opposite ends of the height spectrum speaking in the hallway. The neurologist was slouching somewhat and leaning against the door, and yet he still towered over Jemma, who was smiling at him as she chatted about one thing or another. Fitz wouldn’t let himself relax yet, though – it would make perfect sense for his brain to have used the image of a real person for his hallucination, particularly of the pretty stranger he saved from a lunatic.

Accordingly, his approach was slow and silent, giving Mack a small nod as he met his eyes over Jemma’s shoulder.

“There he is,” the taller man said, straightening his white coat as he stood up. “Never been late before, Fitz, what gives?” 

Jemma turned around to meet his eyes then, and his stomach lurched at the bright smile that spread across her face at the sight of him. Was she just being friendly? Or had everything been real all along?

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat and flicking his eyes between the two of them. “Got, um, sidetracked.” What felt like a long silence stretched between the three of them then, and Fitz tried to figure out how to broach the subject of him possibly having hallucinated a stranger for the past few months. 

With an amused huff, Jemma stepped into his space and leaned up to press her lips gently against his. He didn’t react at first, wondering if maybe he’d managed to meld reality with the hallucination. Then she curled one hand into his shirt and turned to Mack.

“I’m sorry to take up more of your appointment time, Dr. Mackenzie, but Fitz and I had a debate to settle before I leave the hospital for the day.”

Giving them both a droll eyebrow raise, Mack shrugged. “Hey, it’s not your fault he’s late.” He eyed the way she was pressed against him. “ _Probably_ not your fault, anyway.” 

Jemma leaned in one more time to give Fitz a quick kiss, tugging on his shirt as if she didn’t quite want to let him go yet. “Text me tonight when you’re done with work, okay?” Only able to nod dumbly, Fitz swallowed, and she gave his cheek a chaste peck before striding away down the hallway. Allowing himself a moment to watch the barest outline of her arse against the cotton of her scrubs, he shook his head to clear it.

“Alright there, Turbo?” Mack was grinning as he ushered Fitz into the office, but he couldn’t relax quite yet.

“You could see her, right?”

He could practically hear the neurologist’s wheels shifting into gear as he processed the question. “The pretty medical student who just made out with you two feet away from me? Yeah, I saw her. Said she was waiting for you, too, when I came out looking. She’s good – I worked with her for a while last year.”

Covering his eyes with one hand, Fitz inhaled sharply, relief flooding his system and making him feel like he was on the brink of tears. “She’s real,” he muttered to himself, voice shaking. “She’s actually real.”

The desk chair scraped against the hospital-standard linoleum, and Fitz heard his friend and doctor exhale slightly. “I think we’ll leave the video games for next month.”

Swiping at the moisture on his cheeks, he turned towards the desk. “Sorry, I just... I didn’t...”

“Too good to be true?” The smile on Mack’s face was slight but genuine, and Fitz found himself returning the gesture.

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping into the chair and trying to get a hold on the excitement surging through his veins. Now that he didn’t have to guard against Jemma’s potential nonexistence, his mind started racing with thoughts about where to take her, how to impress her, and how to prove that maybe, somehow, he could be worth her attention, for however long she chose to give it to him.

“Hey, Fitz!” Mack snapped his fingers to get his attention back, and Fitz flinched.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said that I think we need to talk about why you thought it was a legitimate possibility that you’d been hallucinating someone since the last time I saw you.” 

Fitz opened his mouth to protest, but stopped mid-word, realizing that, funnily enough, his doctor might have a point. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

\------

 

_One Year Later_

 

Fitz awoke to the sun warming his face, and he tipped his head away from the light as he opened his eyes. This ended up being a brilliant decision because he was greeted with Jemma’s face, fast asleep and as stunning as ever – even with a small puddle of drool next to her mouth on the pillow. Shifting onto his side, he settled in to watch her sleep, her breasts rising and falling steadily under the thin blue cotton of his t-shirt. Either because of the way his breath fanned over her skin, or because he’d moved, or because of something else entirely, Jemma’s eyes blinked open, finding his face in short order as her mouth broke into a wide smile.

“Morning.” She cringed as she reached up to wipe her mouth, moving away from the wet spot on her pillow.

He grinned back, scooting slightly closer to her. “Morning,” he murmured and pressed his lips to the join of her neck and shoulder. She melted into his touch, humming contentedly as he continued his path along her shoulder. As he moved further along, though, she winced when he dropped a kiss over the shirt, and he tugged the hem down. A bright pink love bite marred her otherwise flawless skin, and Fitz frowned at the fact that it hadn’t faded overnight. “Shite, love, I’m so sorry...”

Craning her neck back to see the mark, Jemma shrugged and cuddled in closer. “Don’t remember when it happened exactly, but I’m sure I enjoyed it.” 

The idea of hurting her, even unintentionally, made Fitz’s stomach churn, so he tried to disentangle himself from her. “Lemme just get something to –”

“Don’t you dare leave this bed, _Leopold_ ,” she admonished, using his dreaded first name for emphasis and snugging her arms more tightly around him. “If you move more than ten centimeters from me right now I’ll never forgive you. It’s bloody freezing in here and you’re just the right temperature.”

Rolling his eyes at her intentional hyperbole, he gave in, wrapping his arms around her in return and tugging her to rest over his torso. “I just want to take care of you, Jemma, that’s all.”

She dropped soft kisses along his jawline, and he let his eyes slip closed again. “I know. And you can – later. But I’d rather you stay here right now.” With that, she nuzzled into his neck, and he did his absolute best to ignore the flare of arousal that followed her breath gliding over his skin. 

“Thank you for saving me,” Fitz murmured into her hair, letting his hand glide over the cotton-covered curve of her spine. He could feel her frown against his skin, and she tilted her head up to look at him. There had been no indication of his train of thought, but she was so attuned to him now that she was able to guess what he meant. 

“I could be wrong, but I’m fairly certain that the person who tackled the gunman did the saving, not me.” 

Chuckling, he shook his head and leaned down to press their foreheads together. “Not that. I meant – for _saving_ me. From myself.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, remembering a time when he’d been convinced that he could never be this happy. Her forehead scrunched against his, and he interrupted her preemptively. “Don’t argue with me, please. Alright? It’s true.”

She rolled her eyes and grinned, cuddling in even closer. “Okay, no arguing. For the moment. We’ve saved each other, then. It seems better that way, anyway, hm?” 

“Just about perfect.”

Jemma giggled as he rolled over her, pressing haphazard kisses all over her face, and when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders Fitz gave quiet thanks to the madman who burst into the hospital that day. Because of him, Fitz had met the woman of his dreams, and he was of the firm opinion that his life couldn’t possibly get any better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> I humbly recommend that you listen to Sleeping At Last's cover of "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic", which I listened to a _lot_ while writing this.  
>     
>  _Every little thing she does is magic,_  
>  _everything she does just turns me on,_  
>  _even though my life before was tragic,_  
>  _now I know my love for her goes on._


End file.
